


A Disagreeable Charge

by Red



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Discipline, Fingerfucking, Harems, Kneeling, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Object Insertion, Sub Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6930121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one of those handwavey sort-of-historic sort-of-fantasy alternate universes, Charles is a noble alpha with the harem his station provides. </p>
<p>Erik is not the world's most most agreeable omega, though he is protective of the others in the Xavier house. Of course, when fighting outside alphas happens to coincide with his heat, Charles is... less than pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Disagreeable Charge

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to annejumps for looking this over! 
> 
> (note: dubcon warning is referring to the inherent dubiousness of heat!sex)

Were he with any other alpha, he wouldn’t have taken the time to wash up.

Gritting his teeth, Erik adjusts again on his knees. He ignores the dull sting of the abrasions on his chest, the ache of the bruises still welling up over his body; he shifts once more, trying to get his weight off his injured leg. 

If Charles takes any notice at all of Erik’s discomfort, he doesn’t show it. Erik bites back the instinct to sigh. It’s infuriating. Even if this is the least a consort could be expected to do--being called to their alpha’s side, being expected to kneel silently and wait for an inevitable reprimand--the fact it’s _this_ alpha galls. 

Unaffected as Charles _appears_ , pretending he hasn’t so much as heard Erik enter the study, there’s no way he’s oblivious to Erik’s presence, even if Erik had went through all the trouble of going down to the baths and scrubbing off the blood. 

Purposefully, Erik shifts once more, this time pressing his hard against his bad knee. He glares at the floor in front of Charles’s ornate desk, focusing on the stab of pain, throwing it as best he knows how against the perplexing enormity of Charles’s powers. 

It takes a few minutes. Charles reads his book. The silence of the study presses around them, and Erik winces against the pain. 

But it works. 

Eventually. 

Charles puts the book down, marking the page before setting it aside on the desk. 

“Right. You can stop that, now,” he says. 

When Erik agreed to joining Lord Xavier’s house, he’d told himself three things: that there were far worse fates, that he could leave any time he wished, and that he’d never dare let Charles think him _weak._

Keeping his weight on his bad leg, he raises chin, meeting Charles’s gaze. 

“You called for me?” 

Charles sighs. 

“Yes. I do so apologize for taking you from your duties as the head of my private guard. Or--no. I must be mistaken. You certainly don’t smell like a beta.” 

“Logan is an idiot,” Erik grumbles, mostly to himself. To be fair, Logan is diligent in his work protecting Charles and the harem of omegas a noble alpha birth provides. But Erik had been alone a long time before joining the Xavier house. There’s a lot of alphas out there, several desperate enough to get an omega of their own by any means necessary. Erik’s simply used to protecting himself. 

And besides--not like Logan wouldn’t be busy enough protecting the eight _other_ Xavier omegas. 

“He could as easily protect nine,” Charles says. 

Erik snorts. Might be bad form to argue with your alpha, but then, Erik’s never been one for form.

“And I can as easily protect myself,” he says. “Swallow your pride, Xavier. If it was a docile omega you desired, you were a fool to have invited me here.” 

That he was wary to leave the protection of _all_ eight of the others to _one_ thick-skulled beta… Erik isn’t willing to disclose that much. Unlike most alphas, Charles is blessedly oblivious to the idea that two omegas might pair up. (That, or--unthinkably--Charles doesn’t care about Erik’s long partnership with Magda.)

Charles smiles, soft and gentle. Erik feels his blood boil. 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Charles agrees. He reaches down for Erik, patronizing smile still in place. “You really needn’t keep kneeling. To be honest, I have never expected docility from you. Come here.” 

Frowning, Erik stays put. They stare at each other for a moment, seemingly at an impasse. 

It’s Charles who breaks the silence first.

“Up here,” he orders, his voice firm, brokering no argument; the tone of an alpha to his reluctant charge. He pats his right thigh, and between that and his words, it’s finally patronizing enough that Erik starts to his feet, prepared to storm out the room. 

And that’s when he feels it. 

A trickle running down his inner thigh. He swallows, skin flushing hot, heart pounding. His stomach twists, cramps knotting low on his abdomen. 

He’s going into heat. It must have started earlier, he must have stunk of it, even when--

“Yes,” Charles says, leaning forward. His voice is very soft, quiet with what Erik now realizes is more fear than anger. “Look, Erik, I could care less of what others think of me. Let them call me a cripple, let them believe I’m so pathetic I need my sweet helpless omegas to protect the Xavier name. But for you to put yourself in harm’s way...”

Erik swallows again, his throat feeling full, his mouth dry. “There was no risk,” he says, voice hoarse, “I fought them off.” He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Already, the fog of heat is rolling through his mind. The thin silk of the traditional house-omega pants feels too hot and impossibly constricting. Erik finds himself shoving them down without thinking, letting the loose fabric pool around his knees. 

“Come along,” Charles murmurs, reaching out a hand once more. And even as much as Erik likes to keep his pride--he’s never truly been able to resist Charles. His heats have always been like this, the type to hit hard and sudden. Before, he kept well afield of alphas. Before, he’d fight off anyone who dared come between him and a locked-down shelter in which to sweat off the inconvenience of his sex. 

Clumsily, he extracts his legs from the pants, and crawls to Charles. Even as muddled as his mind is becoming, Charles’s heady scent stronger and stronger as he approaches, Erik is still careful with his weight on Charles’s lap. He braces an arm on the desk, groaning as he feels Charles’s cock swelling against his side. 

“Charles,” he rasps. There’s little else to say. Desperate as he is, he still can’t bring himself to beg. 

Charles’s fingers are cool, his calluses catching roughly against Erik’s swollen flesh.

Erik moans. 

“Shush,” Charles whispers, pressing his fingertips against Erik’s hole. He penetrates lightly, just the slightest stretch of two fingers. 

“That doesn’t help,” Erik growls. It doesn’t. Charles knows that, Charles has had him for enough heats to know that Erik drops fast and hard into heat; to know that nothing else will do than the stretch of a cock. 

His alpha’s or a simulation thereof--doesn’t much matter to Erik. Charles fingers him a little longer, likely just to prove he can, before he’s reaching over for one of the desk drawers. 

Erik breathes out, a soft grateful sigh. 

Though he’d never seen anything like it in person before coming to the Xavier household, he knows now… There’s not a lot to be said of them. But if nothing else, there’s a great deal of _ingenuity_ in the noble classes. 

At least, that is, when it comes to simulating an alpha’s sex. Charles had already possessed a great number of strange devices--fashioned from ivory and wood and leather--intended for the betterment of his omega partners. Erik has since created a few more with the fine metals Charles had supplied. By this point, there’s a frankly absurd variety of phalluses, with varying swells to encourage the calming effect of retaining a knot. 

Such luxury, however, is not commonly afforded to omegas. Certainly not ones of Erik’s class. When he dares to glance behind himself, Erik realizes that what Charles has taken out of the desk isn’t so sophisticated. Indeed, it’s a bit more like the sort of thing omegas usually try and make do with during an unattended heat. 

It’s a hard ball, likely from Charles’s billiard table. At the widest, it’s huge; substantially thicker than Charles’s knot. 

Flustered, Erik rests his head against his arms, refusing to comment or even look at it any longer. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Erik,” Charles says. He rubs his fingertips again through the heavy slickness leaking from Erik’s hole. 

It should be infuriating, or at least humiliating, words like that. Erik bites at his lip, fighting to remain silent. 

“To put yourself in such a position,” Charles continues, three of his fingers sliding into Erik’s cunt easy as anything, “To allow other alphas around my property--” 

“ _Charles_!” he groans, a deep, desperate sound. He shouldn’t be responding like this, he shouldn’t be listening to these words. He shouldn’t be reacting with anything less than anger. Erik shudders, his hips rising to meet Charles’s hand. 

Inside of him, Charles’s fingers curve forward, pressing rhythmically against over-sensitive glands. Erik’s whole body flushes hot, slick running around Charles’s hand. He bites back the moans, the words, all the pleas for mercy storming in his chest, and still Charles works him harder. The fingers spread and relax again, pulling him gradually wider. 

Even if he didn’t want it (which, he reminds himself desperately, he absolutely does not. He doesn’t want an alpha and certainly doesn’t need one putting a toy, a nobleman’s idle plaything, inside him), there’s nothing to do to stop it. His body is heavy, now, against Charles’s lap and the desk. Over and over, his hole tenses and eases around Charles’s fingers. His body is loosening, his hormones driving him relentlessly toward one goal: taking the thick girth of an alpha’s knot. 

“There, now,” Charles murmurs as Erik shudders one last time, as slick splatters loudly against the study floor. Charles tugs his fingers out ungently, while they’re still stretched wide, and Erik cries out. He feels… obscene. Uncontrolled. He’s wet, almost soaking, from his ass to his cunt and all down his cock and thighs. Yet, he can’t even think to bring his legs together. Gaped open like this, Charles can see everything, can do whatever he wants.

Something hard and cold presses against the folds of Erik’s sex, and he sobs. There’s no mistaking it, but somehow all Erik can think is how _good_ the billiard ball feels in that moment. It’s cooling, almost soothing on overheated flesh. 

“That’s my darling,” Charles is saying. His voice is deep and calming, even if his words are (as ever) inane. It’s just the hormones, Erik thinks, that make him relax more. It’s nothing to do with Charles’s voice, with the gentle way he strokes Erik’s back while he presses the ball forward. 

This is nothing like taking Charles’s cock. The ball is unyielding, a painful stretch that feels as if it goes on forever. Erik bites his arm and tries not to whimper. 

Charles _must_ see his tension. He _must_ sense Erik’s discomfort. But he keeps pushing the billiard ball in, and in. A slow careful slide, until--after too long--it’s passed the widest point. 

The ball pops in, and Erik curses in pain. His hole feels raw, forced to stretch too wide, and now--

He moans, clenching again. 

The ball feels huge, a thick weight in his cunt. He tilts his pelvis, experimentally. Damn, he thinks, mind hazy. It’s so large. There’s no chance of it falling out accidentally, no matter how slick he gets. He squeezes down on it again and again, at once sedated and overly aroused by the pressure against his glands. 

Charles is silent, letting him have a few minutes to just breathe. To adjust, though there’s no hope of his head clearing, Erik knows; not for a few days yet. He sighs again, just enjoying the heaviness of the ball inside. 

Later, when he’ll have to go through the indignity of fishing it back out--well, he won’t be so happy then, but that’s a problem for later.

Heat always make time behave oddly, always make him wonder if the hours are slowing down or rushing forward. Ten minutes, fifteen, an hour--Erik has no clue how long it is, before he hears Charles speaking again. 

“All right. Let's take you back,” Charles whispers. Disoriented, Erik raises his head.

“Mm? What?”

Charles pets his lower back again. “I'm going to help you to your rooms.” 

The words don’t seem to make sense, floating on the surface of the deep pool of his heat. Charles is taking him back to--to where? 

“Your rooms?” he asks, voice thick. It’s the only thing that makes sense, for Charles to take him to bed; the alpha instinct to take advantage of an omega’s heat. 

“No, my darling,” Charles says, his hands stroking firm and steadying over Erik’s flanks. “Maybe next season, for you. I’m afraid it’d reflect on me quite poorly, comforting you after you were so--so difficult, to put it lightly.” 

What does he care about how it reflects? Who even notices these things, Erik wonders, hazily. Sure, the other omegas--Magda in particular--were a bit upset when he went to their defense, but aside from them and the Xaviers’ beta staff, there’s no one with whom Charles keeps close contact. For an alpha to care about the opinion of his servants… it’s an absurd notion. 

Charles pets down his spine, one more time, before helping him off Charles’s lap. His knees are unsteady, his feet clumsy. Inside him, the ball shifts, and his body clenches instinctively around it. The pleasure and the dizzying rightness of gripping a knot rushes through him, nearly strong enough to make him collapse. 

“Steady,” Charles says, holding on to him until he finds his balance. It takes Charles a while to get his canes, to wincingly get to his own feet beside Erik. 

“Besides,” he says, once he’s up, “I’m not certain you’d be all too pleased with me in three days, if I did.” 

Erik doesn’t trust his voice to say anything in return. He doesn’t trust his mind all that much, either; right now there’s little that he can think of beyond his own heat. In this moment, he finds the only thing he does trust is--impossibly--a rich alpha. He doesn’t even bother to dress himself again, knowing with unnerving certainty that Charles will keep the halls clear.

“Let’s see if we can’t find Magda,” Charles says, guiding him from the study, “and you can hope she’ll be more sympathetic to your plight.”


End file.
